


No Second Chances (tentative title)

by Harleydoll



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham Asylum (Games)
Genre: Drabble, Gotham City - Freeform, Other, Pride, arkham city, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harleydoll/pseuds/Harleydoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stranded in the depths of Arkham city, Harvey decides it's time to make the best of his situation ion the only way he knows how. <br/>Set in between Harvey and Selina's capture and the mass trial held for Joker before the events of the Arkham City video game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Second Chances (tentative title)

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for eyeofthedivine - hope you enjoy it!

The Solomon Wayne Courthouse has always belonged to Harvey Dent. Even while the rest of this godforsaken city crumbles beneath the weight of so much corruption and ruin, the courthouse stands strong and untouchable, calling out to him from the depths of Arkham City. This is the place that he first made his name as district attorney, and where he prosecuted and won countless cases. It’s where he first returned, half scarred and half mad, and played judge, jury, and, more often than not, executioner. He’s proud of all he’s accomplished here, of all the fair and just sentences that he’s passed over the years. The outcome of those trials, however, had never strictly been up to him. Even now, as he stands before its entrance, he turns the coin that has decided the fates of so many over and over between his fingers, wondering if he really needs it to decide for him now. Maybe, just this once, he can make a decision without the coin. Maybe then he’d really have something to be proud of. 

_Stop second guessing yourself,_ Two-Face chides him. _You know what to do_.

Harvey nods, allowing Two-Face to sweep all that doubt into the far corners of his mind, and reminds himself that the only true measure of justice in this world is chance. A roll of the dice, the turning of a wheel, or, in this case, the flip of a coin. It’s always held true for him before, and he has no doubt that it will do the same for him now. Harvey takes a deep breath, tosses the coin in the air, catching it in mid-flight and slapping it against the back of his hand. He knows without looking at it that it’s landed in his favour – the corroded texture of the other side is all too familiar against the unmarred skin of his right hand. He grins, content with the knowledge that even in the depths of this broken city, some things will never change. 

Two-Face growls a command to his henchmen and they follow him inside, automatically dispersing into smaller teams to search the building for loot, supplies, and survivors, while Harvey presses forward, his only concern the main courtroom and the destruction it might have had to endure. But, Harvey thinks as he throws open the ornate oak double doors, it will always endure, even when he makes his own slightly questionable alterations to the room. 

The spectators’ benches are, as he suspected, nothing more than heaps of splintered wood scattered about the room. The hardwood floor, too, is in shambles – Harvey doesn’t dare walk across it just yet, preferring to survey his old domain from the entrance. Lucky for him, he thought to track down his old interior decorator before getting dumped in this hellhole. Yes, the broken benches will need to be cleared, the floor redone, and perhaps the defendant’s box could use a little more…creative flair.

“Upstairs is clear, sir.” One of Two-Face’s many henchmen, sporting a dichromatic straitjacket and matching pants, interrupts his train of thought. “Some of the judges’ chambers were raided for valuables, but for the most part everything’s intact.” 

Harvey takes a moment to really look at the man before him, surprised at having acquired such a well-spoken underling. He can’t place the face right now, but he’ll get back to that later. To his credit, the henchman doesn’t flinch at Harvey’s disfigurement and looks him straight in the eye while he awaits his orders. 

“Find Maurice, and then get a team to clear out this garbage.” He waves a hand at the broken benches. “This place is going to get the respect it deserves.” 

The henchman nods and disappears for barely a minute before another, older man, in a battered grey suit and cracked glasses perched on his receding hairline takes his place. Maurice Wells surveys the room with disapproval, noting imperfections and tutting at the peeling paint, broken windows, and rotting floorboards. 

“Well?” Two-Face demands impatiently. “Can you fix it?” 

“Of course I can fix it,” Maurice replies indignantly. “New floor, new windows, and I assume you’ve already got people clearing out this mess?” 

“Obviously.”

“Anything else before I beg, borrow and steal the materials needed to bring this place up to standards?” 

“The only way to survive in this city is through fear,” Two-Face says. “I’m going to leave a mark on the wretched degenerates of this city the same way it left a mark on me.” He points a single, scarred finger at the defendant’s box. “I’m going to need a large quantity of acid.” 

“Acid? Isn’t that the Joker’s shtick?” Maurice blurts out. 

Two-Face wheels on him. “What are you saying, Maurice? Are you comparing me to that…that clown?” He fingers the coin in his hand and flips it in the air while Maurice stutters some form of apology. He’s almost disappointed when the coin comes up in Maurice’s favour, but then again he does need someone to fix this room for him. “You’re lucky you’re still useful,” Two-Face sneers. 

“Right. Um.” Maurice struggles to retain his composure. “I’ll get started on your specifications immediately.” He scurries out of the room, leaving Harvey alone once again. 

_Not alone, Harvey. Not really._

Harvey ignores him and gazes up at the statue of Lady Justice towering above him at the front of the room. She’s completely intact, unspoiled by the chaos beyond the walls of this room and still standing tall against whatever hardships lie ahead. She’s the one woman—Hell, the one person—that will never betray him, the one that’s never taken sides but always seemed to tip the scales slightly more in favour of Harvey’s particular brand of justice. 

“It’s a good thing you’re blindfolded, sweetheart,” he mutters. “I’d hate for you to see what’s become of this rotting cesspool of a city.” 

“Talking to yourself again, Harv?” Two-Face growls. “That’s a sure sign that you’ve lost your marbles.” 

“Look who’s talking!” Harvey retorts. 

A team of four henchmen enters the room and fans out, picking up debris and stacking it up to be disposed of. One of them glances sideways at his boss, but before Two-Face can catch him staring, another clamps a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head as if to say, _you’ll get used to it._

“Good luck,” Harvey mutters, turning away from the cleanup crew. “I’m still not used to it, and I have to live with him.” He strides back down the hallway and turns the corner, sidestepping more debris to climb the east staircase. Harvey grimaces as his feet sink slightly into the damp carpet, most likely from being trampled by those Neanderthals he calls his henchmen. Except for that one he spoke with before, whose face he still can’t seem to place…he shakes his head impatiently. It’ll come to him eventually. 

The doors lining the hallway are all open, revealing more of his men looting desks, tearing down portraits to look for hidden safes, and checking closets and adjacent rooms for squatters. They barely notice him striding by, glancing at the names on the doors until he finds the one he’s looking for. The nameplate on the door is faded; it’s impossible to read the name of the judge to whom this office belonged, but the name doesn’t matter. This office belongs to Two-Face, and has since the first time he flipped that coin and shot its previous owner in the head. If he looks closely, he can still see the faded brown pattern of blood spatter on the curtains behind the desk. 

Harvey knows the combination of the safe by heart, and the satisfying click as it unlocks is like music to his ears. There’s nothing inside of course, he didn’t dare leave anything behind while Strange went on his mad crusade to turn half the city into a prison. Everything he has, everything that matters to him, is kept on him 24/7 – his coin, his guns, and an SD card that a certain feline fatale thinks he swallowed back in old Gotham. He takes the card out of his pocket now and places it in the safe before slamming the door shut once again. The locking mechanism whirs and clicks back into place automatically, and he checks the door one more time to be sure. It’s far too transparent, he knows, leaving something that valuable in a safe and waiting for the Cat to take the bait, but once she gets thrown in here with the rest of the scumbags, she’ll be too desperate to care. 

He leaves the room and enters the next one, where a group of five are laughing and chatting as they raid drawers and filing cabinets. Various files and papers litter the floor, and every once in awhile one of the men grabs one and reads the charges aloud. 

“Larceny, conspiracy, racketeering, fraud…” he trails off. “What’s with all this gang war bullshit? Zsasz’s rap sheet, that’d be a good one.” 

“Larceny? Was this dude like a pyro or somethin’?” another asks, glancing up from the sheet he’s reading. 

“That’s arson, you moron,” Two-Face growls. Everyone in the room drops what they’re reading and tries to look innocent, which he has to admit is slightly amusing from a bunch of thugs in mismatched straitjackets. “Now make yourselves useful and guard the safe in the next room. If you see the Catwoman, your orders are to bring her to me alive.” 

“Yessir.” The men shrink slightly as they walk past him and Two-Face grins. Fear is, after all, the greatest motivator. 

He’s just about to head back downstairs when he hears it. It’s faint, and he’s surprised that he can even pick it out over the din of his underlings all around him. Then again, he’s used to picking up on voices that shouldn’t be there. 

“Thirty days has November, April, June, and September…”

Two-Face rolls his eyes and stalks back down the hall to peer through the window overlooking the courtroom. Sure enough, there’s that idiot Julian Day strolling into the room, apparently oblivious to everyone else around him. 

“Of twenty-eight is but one, and all the rest have thirty one,” he continues, shrugging his tattered asylum jumpsuit back onto his shoulders. To their credit, his men grab him immediately and hold him by the arms to keep him from running, not that Day seems to care at all. Harvey turns away from the window and takes the steps two at a time, slowing as he rounds the corner and re-enters the courtroom. Day looks up at his arrival and flashes him a wan smile before finishing his rhyme. 

“Of course leap year comes and slays. Every four years got it right, and twenty-eight is twenty-nine.” 

“Mr. Day,” Harvey greets him almost amiably, though a hint of accusation tinges his voice. “Would you mind telling me what you’re doing in my courthouse?” 

“No more questions!” Two-Face snarls. “I say we kill him now!” 

“I prefer Calendar Man,” Day replies calmly. “Do you have any idea what day it is?” 

“It’s the day you meet your fate.” Harvey pulls out his pistol and rests the barrel against Day’s head, just above the ring of tattoos naming off the months of the year. His other, unscarred hand turns the coin over and over between finger and thumb. “Feel like playing the odds, friend?” He flips the coin high in the air and catches it, opening his palm to reveal the unscarred side facing up. “Looks like it’s your lucky day after all.” Two-Face smirks, lowers the gun and pulls the trigger. Day screams as the bullet rips through his kneecap and his legs give out, but the two men holding him haul him to his feet again. “Take him to the holding cells in the basement. And,” he adds, a wicked smile taxing the patchwork of scars on the left half of his face, “feel free to have a bit of fun with this one, boys.” 

His henchmen grin at each other and drag the whimpering Calendar Man out of the room, leaving a trail of blood across the floor. Good thing it’s getting replaced, he thinks idly, remembering the stained curtains upstairs. Truth be told, though, he loves catching these remnants of the past around the courthouse, these little testaments to his superior judgement. He listens to the loud creak of the basement door opening, followed by a babble of protests that morph quickly into screams as Day is no doubt shoved down the stairs and into the darkness. His assumption is confirmed with the dull thud of Day’s body bouncing of a couple of steps before coming to a stop on the concrete below. Day’s moans of pain echo back up to ground level until the basement door is slammed shut with satisfying finality. 

The shrill ringing of the phone in Harvey’s pocket interrupts his train of thought, and he silently thanks whoever had the good sense to maintain cell phone service within Arkham City as he flips it open. 

“What is it?” he barks into the handset. 

“Uh, I seem to have hit a bit of a snag acquiring the acid,” Maurice responds, his voice shaking. “Perhaps you might…reconsider another option, sir?” 

“What do you mean, a snag?” Two-Face demands, but the familiar echoing laughter in the background is all the answer he needs. 

“Oh, Harvey. Am I speaking to Harvey? Or has Big Bad Harv taken the wheel?” the Joker cackles gleefully. “Oh, don’t worry about Maurice here. We’ll take good care of him. Ooh, I know, why don’t you come over and see for yourself? We can have a slumber party, just the three of us! Oh, and Maurice, of course!” 

“Damn it clown, I’m not in the mood for your games!” 

“Well then you shouldn’t send your people into my territory and expect them to come back out alive. Remember what happened to your tailor?” His tone grows serious. “This is my city, Harvey. You’re out of your jurisdiction now.” The line goes dead and Harvey scowls at the screen before letting out a roar and hurling it at the wall. That idiot always knows just how to get under his skin, taking cheap shots at Harvey’s pride and flaunting the power he thinks it grants him. But underneath all this grime and despair, these are still the same streets of Gotham, and the courthouse remains as a testament to that fact. The courthouse is his strength and his sanctuary, and it’s all he needs to bring the Joker to his knees. 

“The only way to rule this city is by fear,” Two Face growls. “And the only way to become more powerful than the clown is to kill him, once and for all.” 

“No,” Harvey interjects, a slow grin spreading across his face. “We’re going to have…a trial.”


End file.
